Only he and Doctor Bartholomew--who was as close-mouthed
as the devil himself over some things--knew of the incident of the
pistol-shooting, so far as Merriton was aware. And the young man was too
ashamed of the whole futile affair and what it very apparently proved to
the listener--that he had certainly drunk more than was good for him--to
wish any one else to share in the absurd little secret. It could have no
bearing upon the affair, and if 'Toinette got to hear of it, well, he'd
look all sorts of a fool, and possibly be treated to a sermon--a prospect
which he did not relish in the slightest.
As he left the Yard and turned into the keen autumn sunshine, he lifted
his face to the skies and thanked the stars that he had come to London
after all and placed things in proper hands. There was nothing now for
him to do but to go back to Merriton Towers and as expeditiously as
possible make up for the day lost from 'Toinette.
So, after a visit to a big confectioners in Regent Street, and another to
a little jeweller in Piccadilly, Merriton got into the train at Waterloo,
carrying his parcels With a happy heart.
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